Battlefield of the Souls
by Divine Shadow1
Summary: This is the tale of Darren Delacour, grandfather of Fleur Delacour and his struggles during WW2. He is sent on a mission by the High Council of Elders of the Conclave of Lazerus to deter the Nazi’s progress into the French Countryside and keep them fr
1. Prologue

Battlefield of Heart and Soul pbr Story by: Divine Shadow pbr E-Mail: willka_99@yahoo.com pbr Category: Drama, Suspense , Romance, Action-Adventure, Angst pbr Spoilers: Identity of Characters in Book 4 revealed. None really, seeing as how this has absolutely nothing to do with the main storyline of any of the HP Books and occurs about 40 years before HP and the Sorceror's Stone. pbr Rating: R pbr Summary: This is the tale of Darren Delacour, grandfather of Fleur Delacour and his struggles during WW2. He is sent on a mission by the High Council of Elders of the Conclave of Lazerus to deter the Nazi's progress into the French Countryside and keep them from discovering Beauxbaton's Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardy. This story also tells the tale of how Fleur Delacour came to be the granddaughter of a Veela, a bit of their family's history. This story is intended to illustrate how the Wizarding Community dealt with such issues as International War and how it affected them. Questions come to mind. Why didn't the Wizard's help with such issues as the persecution of Jews during the War? Did they not care? Did they choose to ignore the atrocities of the Third Reich? Or did they help in a different way? This is the story of but one of the Wizarding Heros of WW2. pbr Disclaimer: I DO NOT own copyrights to Harry Potter, the character's described within or their exploits and have no intention whatsoever of publishing what is written here. Please do me a favor and don't sue, I couldn't afford to pay up anyways. pbr Note: As befitting of a pre-modern Serialized Fiction Story, the chapters may seem abysmally short. This is an experiment. I plan to release a new chapter every Monday. Look at this as an experiment, a retro-bringing back of the old serial novellas from the 50s. pbr Dedications: This story is dedicated in whole to my best friend, fellow collaborator and most dear person to me right now, Ms. Thursday Saint Giles of Harry Potter Fandom, authoress of "Where the Demon Resides", the "Something Must Be Wrong" series and various other Harry Potter/Angel/Buffy fanfictions. Do me a favor and check her out. Love you Thursday...best wishes. p  
  
BR ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------- br Prologuep The rain pounded the roof of the tin shack like a giant fist upon a door of stout oak. The concussion of the thunder shook the foundation of the small building, stirring it's lone occupant. As he slowly arose from the dark caverns of sleep, Darren Delacour, Dominar of the Thirteenth Sect of the Sacred Conclave of Lazerus, began remember to where he was. The High Council had chosen him for this mission, specifically of his relation to an agent of the Third Reich, his twin brother Mathus. br p The year was 1940. The Nazi's occupation of France had brought their Stormtroopers, dangerously close to the wizarding community in the French countryside. Any closer and the infamous Beauxbaton's Academy of Witchcraft and Magic, second only to the infamous Hogwart's of Great Britain, would have to be shut down, probably forever. He was an outcast, he had taken an oath to his order, swearing never to meddle in the affairs of muggles. That oath was rescinded in this time of crisis, but he was still troubled.br Why had they chosen him? Couldn't they have picked another, maybe another Delacour, someone with a bit more field experience. His high position within his Sect was a right of birth anyways, not a a position earned through hard work and dedication. It had absolutely nothing to do with how skilled he was in dealing with the affairs of the wizarding world or the world of muggles. He was confused, they had said this small assignment shouldn't cause him any trouble.br Why then was he so damned stressed? It was simple task, he was to replace his muggle-twin brother, Mathus, in the servitude of the Third Reich, after subduing him with a specially-licensed, one-time use of the Imperius Curse. After doing so, he was to remain in this position for the next six months, substituting certain documents of war with false information, leading the Nazis far away from the French wizarding community. Mathus's reasons for betraying his family were largely unknown.br It was suspected-widely that he was simply jealous of his brother's accomplishments and his family's prominence in a community he could never be part of. He was a Squib, born to the one of the most prominent wizading families in France, an utter disgrace to his name and rank. Darren suspected the reason for his brother's change of heart went deeper than this. As a child he had always been the most pleasant of souls, always willing to respect his families wishes, happy to spend the days in the family library, serving as a scribe and librarian, taking care of all the family's non-magic business, making sure their social standing didn't falter and that they always had plenty of money to burn.br He was never ill treated because of his disability, in fact quite the opposite was true. He was treasured by his parents, a medical curiosity and even made his fully-magical brother jealous. He was solely responsible for solving the financial problems his family suffered during their failed business dealings in the United States during the depression. He was responsible for restoring honor to the Delacour name. Why then did Mathus betray his trust, his revered position, his revered name to this abomination, The Third Reich?br It was these questions and others that were running though the head of Darren as he journeyed through the French countryside. It was only the first night of his long journey, after a long day of walking, he had decided to take shelter in an abandoned chicken coop, the only shelter he could find that didn't look occupied. He had been instructed NOT to use magic, unless there was dire need, and he was to stay away from the general populace, less he give away his purpose. br He was cold, wet and hungry. The hunger gnawed at his soul like rats through rotten meat. The few rations the High Council had provided him had already run out. Those poor bastards, they new nothing of this muggle concept called war, except with their slight involvement in the Crusades thousands of years ago, and their dealings with the Spanish Inquisition. "Oh well", he sighed, "What can one do?" According to his muggle timepiece, which he glanced at unimpressed, a silly little metallic device one carried in one's pocket, used to tell time, it was 3:00. Since it was still dark, he guessed it was 3 AM. With a sigh, he rolled back over, in his little nest, wrapped in a filthy woolen blanket and allowed the veil of sleep to overtake him. pbr 


	2. The Journey

Chapter 1: The Journey Begins Waking up from his long slumber, Darren noticed an eerie silence in the air. Peeking out from beneath his tattered blanket, he saw that a smoky- gray mist blanketed most of the French Countryside. He slowly got up and began to gather what few supplies he had brought with him. "Good," he said to himself, "What better way to mask my presence from these foolish muggles than to travel under the cover of nature." He began to slowly stroll East, in the direction of the rising sun. He stopped walking a moment to contemplate the situation. Sooner or later he was going to encounter people and then he would be in a righteous fix. He'd had almost no firsthand experience in dealing with muggles and sure as hell didn't want to start dealing with them now. He had to come up with some way to mask his presence. His family may have been wealthy, but they weren't rich enough to provide him a cloak of Invisibiliy, and he had been forbidden to use any form of standard spell until he reach his destination, less he give away his whereabouts. This mission wasn't even supposed to exist. Twiddling his fingers nervously, they encounter a black pouch, drawn tight across his waist. His inheritance, that was it. He could try his inheritance. Darren digs slowly in the pouch at his waist, the letters "D.D.D" adorned the side of the pouch in silver letters. The pouch of his grandfather, lying on a shelf gathering dust for the past 25 years. This was the last remaining legacy of his Grandfather, Darren Daedulus Delacour, hero of the great War of the Magi many years before. His fingers touch a small, cold shape, he feels monogrammed words upon its ancient surface. The cold metal of it drawing him to it. "Drink Me" it seemed to say. Lifting the bottle up, he can see the words "Draught of Misty Form" carefully-sculpted letters adorning its side, printed in faded black lettering. He slowly unscrews the top, sniffs at it's contents and takes an experimental sip. The fluid within is light, airy. It was like drinking a cloud. No texture whatsoever, he could feel it flowing down his throat, a generalized coolness filling his entire body. He looked down in amazement as his clothed form began to take the exact shade of the cool, damp air around him. The sensation was wonderful, like floating upon a cloud. This potion was probably very valuable, he wondered thoughtfully what other wonderous treasures his grandfather's pouch held. He slowly began to make his way East, in the direction of the rising sun, floating a few inches above the ground, floating across the countryside like a cloud. "What a splendid way to travel", he whispered quietly to himself. He would have to find out a way to duplicate this potion upon his return. With an almost silent sigh, he went back to concentrating at the task at hand, the capture of his brother. When was the last time he spoke with Mathus, he could scarcely remember. Ah yes, a distant 5 years earlier, at their 21st birthday party. The words spoken between them were not kind. It had been a rather emotional occasion. Something he had tried to forget. 


	3. The Library

Chapter 2: Encounter in the Library It was a fine, moist evening in early Spring, May 15th 1935. Darren Delacour was sitting alone in the family library, enjoying a novel, one of those American "pulp romance" titles. For some reason, he had taken quite a liking to them during his family's brief stint in the United States. Their one-dimensional characters and simple plotlines always brought a feeling of contentment to his heart. The light from the moon poured in, a solid white curtain through the domed-glass ceiling. T'was a nice night indeed to celebrate one's twenty-first birthday. Something was on his mind. Darren glanced briefly about the empty room, over it's never-ending rows of shelves, filled with books of all and sizes and colors. His brother Mathus had become quite reclusive as of late, darting out of the room whenever he entered, and since the library was technically his, Darren wondered what was up. Where was he anyway? This was their birthday, the one day of the year they always spent together. Ah well, save those thoughts for another day, his brother had always had these spells, where he went into sort of a self-induced cocoon if you will. Darren supposed it had something to do with Mathus being un-magic, but it never seemed to bother him before. Suddenly, a loud-metallic crash, was heard from just outside the main entrance of the library. Distracting him from whatever he was reading, Darren looked up quick enough to see his brother storm in, looking rather spooked and rather irked at the same time. In his right hand and he carried a rather-large, obviously-old book that was bound in jet-black leather. In his left hand he carried a single candle that was glowing with a blue flame. His clothes were in tatters. His face was unshaven and scraggly, a sad-looking growth of week-old razer stubble covering the hollows of his gaunt face. He looked like he hadn't eaten in months. Something was most definately wrong. Darren, speaking softly queried, "what is the problem Mathus, I was trying to enjoy my day-of-birth celebration thank you very much." "None of your business dear brother," he sneered, "I have finally found something worth doing in my pathetic little life, aside from being your's and father's pet muggle. I see how you try to hide me away in this wretched room, ashamed of my," he paused a moment and then spoke, drawing out the word like a hiss from a serpent, "disssssability." "Mathus, we've discussed this before, you are not a crutch to this family, and where you got this idea that we're ashamed of you I have no idea. Father and I care a great deal for you. This library isn't a prison, it's a haven, it's your haven." "NONSENSE," Mathus snapped angrily. "I heard you talking about to your little preppy English friend, Dumbledore. His proposed policy on squib- affirmative action is preposterous! I swear, the next time I hear the phrase un-magic, spoken with the word, Mathus in the same sentence, I am going to scream!" " I absolutely refused to be placed within a federally subsidized work program, like I'm some kind of BUM! No brother I have other plans." His voice trailed off with these last words, a sinister smile taking the place of the look of anger worn before. "What are you going on about", questioned Darren skeptically. "What plan?" "We both know that the only thing you're actually good at is number- crunching, HELL your skills in the field of mathematics rival those of ole' Gringott himself. Why don't you let me see that book, what is it anyway?" He spoke, standing up. Mathus, obviously perturbed at this idea, smacked his brother's hand away brutally, clutching the book to his chest protectively. "MINE," he exclaimed, voice rising a notch or two in pitch. It was as if he was possessed by some demon. His eyes glowed with fury. "What is your problem," Darren quipped, sounding annoyed? "Let me see the damn book!" "Stop playing around." Mathus, obviously in quite a state of shock of his twin having the audacity to touch his book began to sputter angrily. "HANDS OFF, DEAR SWEET BROTHER!!" "You know not what dark forces you are messing with." He struck Darren rather solidly In the jaw, drawing forth a muffled grunt and a bit of blood. Shaken, Darren cowered away from his twin, he'd never been hit before, at the very least, not by his brother. Mathus shot one final glare at his brother, a look of pure venomous hatred. Made some sort of weird gesturing motion with his left hand, the one holding the candle. A large glowing-green, spinning portal opened up in the center of the library. Darren recognized this, a dimensional door, but how could Mathus conjour up such a powerful spell. He was just a squib, a harmless squib, his brother. "Farewell brother," cried Mathus, hatred in his voice. He stepped through the portal, with the strange book and the candle which promptly closed up behind him, leaving Darren, in shock all alone inside of the library. He began to sob, clutching his arms around himself in a tight embrace, sobs racking his slight frame. He cried himself to sleep, curled up in a prone bundle on the floor that evening the moon shining down upon him. That was the last time Darren had seen his brother in the flesh. He had learned later that the book his brother had stolen, was a simple history book, more precisely a common recount of the Holy Cruasdes, that assaulted Europe years before. He could never figure out just why this book could cause such a change in his brother. Why this book? Why not some other? About a month later, the letters started arriving. Letters, documenting an unnamed soldier, rising quickly within the ranks of Hitler's Army. None of them gave an identity, or had a return address, but they were in Mathus's, madly-looping handwriting. He hadn't even given the letters a second thought, until the Council recruited him, specifically for this mission, a week earlier. 


	4. Interludes

Chapter 3: Interludes  
  
About mid-morning Darren began to tire of his now-misty form and began to feel the first pangs of hunger rock his body in slow, gentle waves. "Damn", he whispered with a flourish, he had forgotten one crucial thing about travel. It tended to make one hungry, as did living in general, for in his haste to leave, he had brought no provisions, aside whatever arcane artifacts lay hidden inside his grandfather's regent pouch. He would have to improvise. As much as he despised improvision, as it to him at least, implied disorganization, he would have to do so. His muggle timepiece said 11:00AM. The autumn sun was just begining to peak over the wooded countryside. Darren observed plumes of smoke rising slowly, and being carried away by the wind over the tree-tops indicating some form of life. Accompanying the soft plumes of white smoke, was a haunting voice that reminded Darren of the voices of the elves, soft, eerie and smooth. "Well, what beauty of nature should reveal itself in a hellish place such as this? " he murmered softly to himself, he would just have to seen then wouldn't he. As he in his misty form rolled gently through the surrounding grove of trees, over the crest of the hill ahead he saw the most extraordinary sight. There, in a close-clustered grove of willow-trees stood a full- figured, volumptuous-looking girl, barefoot, dressed in what appeared to be a sheer-white, transparent gown made of some almost-shimmering material, that seemed to shift between shades of white and light greens, bathed in sunlight shining down through the holes in the overhanging leaves. She was dancing gracefully, slowly with intent, the sound of her sorrowful song moving the surrounding wildlife, filling it with life, and the breeze blowing softly through the trees. She seemed to be completely immersed in nature. Her face was quite pleasing to behold even though her eyes were closed as if in deep contemplation. Her hair, a deep, flaming-red with natural waves that seemed to dance with the cool-morning breeze, was pulled back harshly in a tight bun, with a single green ribbon of the finest velvet, almost as if she were trying to keep it from floating away with the wind. Her skin was pale, as if she didn't see much sunlight, but not sickly, almost like a fresh Winter's snowfall, touched by the rays of the first light of the rising sun. From her ruby-red full lips flowed a voice as full of passion as a newborn child, laced with honey and sweetness, a haunting melody in some lost language, it brought a tear to Darren's eye. Softly Swaying the mist is rising, We in harmony are most certainly dying, The darkness come to lull one to sleep His soul, a trap to lure my heartfor him to keep,  
  
A warrior comes in the still of night, Luring my heart to his warm embrace He comes, on a cloud of gray like a knight, A man of little faith and a kind face,  
  
Who was this goddess of the morning? And, what was she doing here, in the middle of a warzone? He thought of calling out to her, but Darren, being ever the quiet obeserver decided to keep his mouth shut. Besides, in his misty form, he might frighten the poor creature off. Hearing her sing was like being reborn. Strange emotions washed over him, unknown feelings of trust and warmth like some strange force was reaching into his soul and bringing about pure, unadultred joy. and all of a sudden it just stopped. Darren stared once more to where the girl was standing. Nothing was there. The grove of closely grown willows, the feeling of warmth, the sorrowful, glorius music, and the mysterious girl, they were all gone, as if nothing had happened. Where there was a grove of living willows, now stood a clump of bare-branced, unrecognizable, mostly-dead trees. "What sorcery is this," he called out suddenly, to no one in particular. It was now that he noticed, that his misty form, was now not-so-misty, the feeling of floating along with the wind was gone, and he was cold...cold, wet and hungry. It was getting dark. "Dark," he wondered? Just a few minutes ago it was 11 AM. Was this some unresearched side-effect of his grandfather's draught? Well, gramps was always a strange old man, known for his pioneers into the field of quantom-spacial transteleportation magics. Maybe there was a hidden meaning to the way the "Draught of Misty Form" actually worked. And what was with the strange visuals? The singing girl? What did it mean? Was he losing his mind? Sighing wistfully, Darren trudged through the muddy grove of dead trees, cold, hungry and most of all, lonely. After awhile he came upon a rustic log cabin sitting alone beside a stagnant-looking pond that was as lifeless as everything else around here. The exterior of the cabin itself looked in relatively good shape, aside from rust hanging off of the hinges. He slowly opened the door, and to his surprise, a small fire was already burning in the cabin's tiny fireplace. "That's funny," he whispered, the plumes of smoke that he saw earlier, were gone by the time the sun went down. From the outside the place looked deserted. Something was cooking in a pot on the fire. The smell of boiling broth of some sort wafted about the confines of the cabin. Aside from the blankets, the fire and the pot there were no other signs of habitation. And outside, there was certainly no one nearby. Darren could see for at least 1/2 mile in each direction due to the absence of visible foilage. Oh well, he was never one to turn down free hospitality, as long as no one cared he was taking advantage of it. He sampled from the pot questioningly and was plesantly surprised at it's contents, a heavy stew of some sort containing lamb and potatos, seasoned lightly with garlic and rosemary. Whoever owned this cabin had a good sense of taste. He curled up in the pile of blankets with a bowl of stew, ate heartily and closed his eyes. Drifting off slowly into the dark cavern of sleep, Darren sighed softly. All would be well in the morning. He dreamed a dreamless sleep, trapped in the misty confines of the night, feeling at peace with each and every thing. Darren awoke when it was still dark to the sound of soft breathing. It was still dark, he hadn't been out long, but someone, or some-thing was definantly in the cabin with him, more specifically right next to him under the soft blankets. His eyes jerked open suddenly to find that he was being held in a soft embrace by the same girl who he had seen in the woods earlier, still dressed(barely) in that same sheer dress as before. The girl with the voice like an angel. What the hell was SHE doing here? And more to the point, what in God's holy name was he doing here wrapped in the soft embrace of a woman he didn't even know, a sleeping one no less?!? Darren didn't even sleep with his old girlfriend. He was old fashioned. The most he'd ever gotten from a girl was a sisterly peck on the cheek after a pleasant dinner. What kind of strange woman got her kicks, sleeping with strange men who wandered into her cabin, uninvited late at night. This was quite a startle. He slowly removed her arm from around his chest so as not to wake her and took one of the blankets, wrapping himself up to block the chill on the other side of the still-blazing fire. He sat awake for a while staring at the sleeping girl. Her beauty was almost too much to take. Her hair was being worn down now and he could see that the way it framed her face made her appear even more angelic. She breathed softly, and a smile slowly spread accross her sleeping face. What could she be thinking, Darren questioned himself. And he himself began to drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep. He was awakened the next morning when he heard the soft sound of her voice singing, once again. He opened his eyes, to see her reclining in an armchair he didn't notice before staring at him. She had the most lovely steely-blue eyes one could imagine, one could see one's soul reflected perfectly in them. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and Darren could see that she was now wearing absolutely nothing. He turned away quickly in shame and heard a nymph-like laugh emerge from the girl's general direction, followed by a luxuriously pleasant voice. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------- 


End file.
